


The Answer Is Yes

by epiproctan



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 10:15:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2618192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epiproctan/pseuds/epiproctan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does that feel like? Clear wonders to himself. How must it be to have a person who treasures you as much as you treasure them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Answer Is Yes

**Author's Note:**

> idk........if i went overboard with this one........

1.

On some softly twinkling nights Clear stays so late in Aoba’s bedroom that as he and Ren converse in gentle tones about what it means for a machine to feel and how every given name has a meaning and why it is probable that the jellyfish off the coast of the island are not lethal to the touch, Aoba slips into a semiconsciousness in which all he can contribute is the occasional hum of agreement or maybe a light snore. When it finally occurs to Clear that it’s time to leave, that organic creatures of bone and blood and muscle need rest, and he rises, apologizing for overstaying his welcome (an apology which Ren constantly denies the necessity of), Ren often goes to the bedside, gentle and fruitless in his attempts to rouse his dozing lover. Clear takes this opportunity to don his mask and pull out his umbrella, and by the time Ren turns to him with excuses for Aoba’s rudeness in not seeing his guest out, Clear is at the veranda door.

Ren brushes past to open it for him, and Clear uses their proximity to inhale deeply and catch a whiff of his cozy scent, a smell that makes Clear feel alive in the same way that reading a thrilling story does. With words of goodbye he steps out into the tender nighttime and takes long moments to unfurl his umbrella. If he waits long enough he can watch unobtrusively as Ren slides the door shut behind him, and then goes once again to the bed. His movements sure with practice and slow with affection, he pulls the blankets around Aoba’s shoulder and tucks him gently into their warmth. And then he leans down and he kisses him downy-soft on his forehead, and he comes away with a line of sight like nothing else can exist in his reality and an expression like he can’t believe his luck, that such a person is even alive, let alone the fact that he gets to know the feel of his skin and share in his breaths.

What does that feel like? Clear wonders to himself. How must it be to have a person who treasures you as much as you treasure them?

And no matter how many times Clear asks himself the question that naturally follows in his mind, the answer is always no.

 

2. 

On a particularly softly twinkling night Clear stays so long in Aoba’s bedroom that as he and Ren’s conversation comfortably turns to spaces more than words, Aoba’s breathing deepens and evens until Clear thinks there must be more carbon dioxide in the room than oxygen. He knows it’s not true but he can’t help the feeling that inhaling would be difficult when he looks at Ren and Aoba. Something about it gives him warmth. He doesn’t want to leave.

He makes motions towards the door anyway when he feels that it’s time, and Ren begins his usual process, the repeat performance shown once or twice a week for its audience of one. It follows script perfectly until Ren’s head follows Clear out the door.

Quietly, politely, he asks Clear where he goes at night after their talks.

Clear tells him about his habit of sitting on the rooftop of the Seragaki residence long after the light in the room beneath him has gone out.

This is puzzling to Ren, but he admits that he’s never been there, and asks what the view is like.

Clear explains how all of Midorijima and the whole sky sparkles.

He helps pull the curious Ren onto the rooftop from the veranda railing. They settle beside each other on the shingles like autumn leaves settling on the surface of a pond and their heads instinctively tilt skyward to let their eyes drink of the milky moon. Their conversation rekindles as they talk of faint constellations both in the stars and in the city lights, but Clear loses his place among his words when he turns to find deep amber eyes trained on his face. All he can think of is how beautiful they are, how they shine, and the statement is so true he can’t hope to keep it unvoiced.

Ren blushes, and it isn’t until that moment that Clear realizes how far forward he’s leaning, so close he can see all the tiny little parts that make up Ren’s face, each eyelash thick and distinct, the curve of his lips a wonderful flower. He waits here as Ren stammers out a few words of thanks, and tells Clear that he also has beautiful eyes, like the insides of seashells or the feathers of an exotic bird.

Clear doesn’t know what his own eyes look like.

Ren assures him once again, conviction in his voice now, that they are indeed beautiful.

And somehow in the stillness now they’ve fallen in on each other, quiet and gentle with no more than an undemanding graze. But Clear feels it in every fiber of his body, a shiver, a tremor, that passes down through his circuits into something profound and animal inside of him. He is no longer trapped by gravity, it feels like, and he can float free with the clouds in the sky and the jellyfish in the sea.

They say nothing of it when they separate, silent for a considering moment before a stray comment about the color of the night, but then they’re together again. And again, and again, until they know each other’s tastes in the back of their mouths.

Now, suddenly, the answer is maybe.

 

3. 

The world twinkles in bright splashes and warm frantic bursts tonight. Aoba is both barely asleep and barely awake but the joy of existence thrums through Clear’s body with an allegretto rhythm at the mere presence of his companions. He thinks he knows what this emotion is.

He tells Ren that he’d like to kiss him again, unguarded and unabashed.

Ren is startled by the proclamation, if his parted lips and widened eyes are any indication, and Clear imagines this may be because of the suddenness of his statement. It had immediately followed an unconcluded sentence about the delight of fluffy dogs, and though the transition had been logical in his head, perhaps it hadn’t translated very well. But it doesn’t matter, because now Ren is glancing at Aoba’s snoozing form out of the corner of his eyes while creeping towards Clear across the floor on his hands and knees.

Among sand-fine kisses and more and more and more things to say than he’d known he was capable of, Clear loses all sense of time and direction until Aoba rustles in his sheets.

Ren sits up straight, checks the time, and informs Clear that it’s three in the morning, before angling his body towards Aoba and resting a firm hand on his shoulder.

Clear pulls in on himself and asks if he should leave, his insides feeling as though they’re shrinking rapidly, and meanwhile Aoba is stirring, blinking awake, blurry eyes gaining an instinctive warmth as they alight on Ren.

His motions smooth and protective, Ren rubs Aoba’s arms and tells Clear that that hadn’t been his intended implication. He’d meant that on nights when Clear has come over, Aoba always wakes around three in the morning and asks where he’s gone. Ren is always burdened with the task of informing the sleepily, defenselessly disappointed Aoba that he left via the veranda hours ago, that he’ll probably be back on Thursday or Friday or maybe next week.

Maybe since Clear is here this time, he can tell him himself that he hadn’t gone anywhere.

“I can hear you talking about me, you know,” Aoba slurs, his words half eaten by his pillow.

Clear is instantly at his side, looking into drowsy eyes, asking if it’s true. If Aoba asks for him in the night, after he’s gone.

It’s a wordless shrug and a blush that make Clear believe that Ren can’t have been mistaken, and elated he looks to Ren for permission, for confirmation.

But it’s Aoba who gives it to him, motions released of inhibition by the pretext of a half-awake state, spreading invitational arms as much as his swathed blankets will allow him. And almost no time passes before Clear is folded in them. When Ren’s weight is added to the bed beyond the soft wall of Aoba’s body, balancing them against their sea of forgotten fears and concerns, Clear floods with light and air.

He lets go of his question. He has an answer.

**Author's Note:**

> haha wow i wrote some fluff for once. clear and ren and aoba fall in love differently every time i imagine it...


End file.
